Me Voy con Lagrimas

As I write this I am sitting in my room in Santiago for the last time waiting for a cab which will take me to the airport at 4:15 in the morning, sleep is not an option.

I have said my goodbye to my family; one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I must say that I am rather glad they are not accompanying me to the airport for I don't think I have the emotional fortitude for that.

I almost lost it when my host father said to me, "Has sido más que un hijo, has sido un amigo." This means, "You have been more than just a son, you've been a friend." He could not have expressed what I was feeling more perfectly.

For my final hours in Santiago my friend, Juan Pablo, hung out with me. We laughed and shared a few beers as we said goodbye. I walked him out, not knowing if and when I will see him again but knowing we enjoyed every second together.

Looking back on my time in Santiago makes me realize that it really was the adventure of a lifetime, hopefully one of many. The things I have learned here cannot be expressed in words, the stories will not do the events justice and there is no goodbye fitting for the friends I have made here.

But I most go on. Next semester I will be studying and interning (begging for change in the metro) in Washington, D.C. with several other Syracuse University students. Another group of friends for another set of adventures, hopefully with less running from the police.

Goodbye Santiago, it's been real.

La Isla Más Increible del Mundo

I have just returned from a four day visit to Easter Island, it was incredible. Easter Island is not only a fascinating place in an archaeological sense, but also culturally. The fact that only 4,000 people inhabit the island, and that only people of Rapa Nui descent can own land makes for a very homogeneous society.

I am sure that you have all seen pictures of the Moai, so I'm not going to bore you describing them. The history of Easter Island is what really makes it an amazing place. It is believe that people arrived to Easter Island from other parts of Polynesia sometime between 400 and 700 AD. The island at this time was covered in vegetation and food sources.

When the people began building the Moai they became obsessed with them. They spent more time building Moai than farming and fishing. They were also cutting down trees to use as transport for the Moai at a massive rate. At the same time the population of the island was growing immensely, peaking at 10,000 people. 

What resulted were food shortages, and subsequently civil-war. Easter Island is a good indicator of what could happen to us if we continue to live the way we do. We have to stop being so obsessed with our own lives, but also care for future lives.

¡Yo Dejé los Tennis en el Piso, Weon!

Over the past month the students of many high schools and universities have taken over the facilities, stopping all activity. This action is an effort to combat the current education system which is very much a free market system, making free education almost impossible. 

This week the congress is voting on a new law to improve the system, but many people believe it does not go far enough. Because of this there are currently protests going on in Plaza Italia, located in the center of the city.

My friend and I just so happened to walk through there today, and ended up stopping on the side of the road to watch everything that was going on. The students would chant and jump together, then the police would shoot tear-gas and spray them with water. The students would run, then return and the same would happen.

At the time that we were there there were two locations where this was occurring, one to our east and one to our south. Unfortunately the police decided to push the protest in the east towards us. At this point we decided to leave (about 5 minutes to late). We had to run from the water throwing truck, which we managed to escape. But then from the north came about 25 officers in riot gear who practice the policy of, "Beat the shit out of first, ask questions later". Obviously we ran as fast as possible into Parque Forestral. At this point they sent in officers on dirt bikes after us, so we sprinted across the street, hopped the fence to stop people from doing what we had just done and ran down a small side street.

If anyone in the United States thinks that the police are all fascist, they have no idea. Here they will hit you just because they can. They need no provocation to hit you with the water hose either. You're lucky if they only hit you with tear-gas. I think I know where George Lucas got his idea for the Clone Troopers (don't sue me George, I don't make any money for this).

I'm still catching my breath.

La Piojera

I have recently discovered the greatest place on earth. It is called La Piojera. Yes, it is a bar; sorry mom. La Piojera is Chile. It is filled with students playing folk music, street bands earning a living, and even blind guys singing hilarious versions of your favorite songs.

The drink of choice at La Piojera is the Terremoto, or earthquake. Why you ask? Because after two you are totally cagado. I think thats what makes panhandling so easy in there; everything sounds good. The Terremoto is the deadly combination of an unprocessed white wine, with pineapple ice cream and a liqueur of which I can never remember the name. In order to decide whether or not you like it you have to finish one, at that point you have to have another because you like it. Number three is optional but highly recommended for those of you who like to stumble home.

La Piojera grasped my heart upon my first visit, but when I really fell in love was last night. While we were ordering our drinks two Carabinieros came in to use the bathroom. They were greeted by shouts, whistles and cat calls an indication of good things to come.

Once we had our drinks we were witness to a classic battle. La Piojera has a family of cats that roam around the bar, which often attracts dogs. Today a dog happened to chase a cat into the vine trellis, and was unknowingly being taunted by that cat as it was obviously in no danger.

The blind "singer" that I have already mentioned came in a bit after this and thrilled the entire bar. But the highlight of the night was the encounter my friend and I had with a table of four girls.

The stakes were high, we somehow had to find a way to be charming and command attention not only in spanish, but highly outnumbered. The ratio was two to one, great odds if you ask me, yet we still felt like Leonidas and his Spartans.

Unlike Leonidas we survived, they then invited us to the U.S. Embassy (McDonalds) to eat and continue the conversation. We were promised salsa dancing next week.

La Visita de los Viejos

Two weeks ago my parents came to visit me and experience a bit of the non sequitur that is Latin America. The journey was a whirlwind, with its high points and the obligatory low ones but overall great.

We started the day with a "climb" up Cerro San Cristobal. The morning was clear and smogless, a rarity here. At the top of the hill we could see the city juxtaposed with the Andes, and the smog rolling in. We took that as our cue to head down and get some lunch at Cafe Patagonia where we had a traditional Patagonian grill consisting of various beef parts. We also indulged in the micro-brews that are very common here in Chile due to the large population of German immigrants.

We finished the day with dinner at my house here in Santiago. I played translator between me two sets of parents and it went quite well. We had a traditional pastel de choclo, which was a bit undercooked so my host father called it; quite fittingly, sopa de choclo.

The next day we went to the aforementioned rugby match, but I believe the best part of the day were the completos at Feunte Alemania. A completo is a beef hot dog with avocado, tomato, and practically a jar of mayonnaise. I believe it is then essential to put mustard and aji (Hot sauce) on top, an opinion carefully formed after many experiences.

That night we had an excellent dinner of traditional Chilean sea food, most notable the shark and conger eel with a Pinot Noir that even my mother liked.

The next day we went out to Valparaiso, a port city about two hours from Santiago in car. There we saw one of the three houses of Pablo Neruda and climbed a gradient that put us in poor spirits. Clearly a phenomenal lunch was necessary to follow such an exhausting ascent.

Valparaiso is littered with elevators to bring people up and down the many hills, most of which were constructed in the 1800's. The one we took to find our excellent lunch would have made OSHA close down and admit defeat.

Our lunch consisted once again of the finest sea food that Chile has to offer. The dish that stood out the most was a calamari lasagna made with a squid-ink pasta. A close second was the octopus carpaccio. A good sauvignon blanc recommendation from Chile would be Montes or Montes Alpha, screw cap but good stuff Hilts.

On Monday night we had another great meal with several of my friends at a traditional Chilean restaurant. One of Santiago's real strong points is the gastronomic scene; the price to quality ratio is phenomenal, just be cautious when ordering meat as it tends to be overcooked.

On Tuesday we hit every possible museum you could possible imagine. I lead the march with my parents somewhat lagging behind, but they made it. We saw every important thing there is to see in Santiago and then some. Finishing in a very historic restaurant which was built by Salvador Allende as a place to hold state dinners. 

On Wednesday we simply had a casual lunch and walked around for a bit. That night we had our final dinner together along with the two directors of my program.

Thursday was a fitting goodbye with completos and some last minute tasks. I also gifted a full suitcase to my parents for them to take home.  

Que Ganemos

One of the first things I did when I got to Chile was look for a rugby team. I asked around at the Universidad de Chile but found that all the teams have schedules that did not work for me. Then one day while playing soccer in the park a rugby team came over to do some pre-season training. I approached the coach, asked if I could play and started training with them.

I had to fill out an information sheet and obviously pay dues. The assistant coach told me that dues were 20.000 pesos (40 USD) a number that seemed legit. The assistant coach then called me and told me he needed 20.000 pesos more for the registration fee; a blip appeared on my bullshit radar, but being a new guy and the number now only being 20 USD more than S.U. dues, I payed.

A few days later I was bar-hopping with a fellow rugger and somehow the topic of dues came up, when I told him how much I paid he said, "[the assistant coach] es un concha su madre". I'll let you all translate that, as my mother reads this. 

Our conversation lead to the first meetings between a group of high-ranking players advocating for the forced withdrawal of the concha su madre. I call it the golpe del equipo or coup of the team.

When we confronted the concha su madre and asked him about the money, he of course said that everything was legitimate. When we asked the director of the Institute, a letter demanding resignation was sent the next day.

Once that slight issue was handled we could play some rugby, which brings me to a report of our last game.

My parents (who happened to be visiting at the time) and I arrived to the field only to find that it was in the shadow of the snow-covered Andes. My team; Inacap, or Incapaz as we are sometimes called was rather unimpressed with the view. I can understand, the dome doesn't really do much for me anymore.

I entered the game as a starting second row and the jumper in first pod. The game was going reasonably well for our capabilities. The scrum was going quite well and we weren't throwing the ball away too much. Furthermore, I was enjoying myself.

Then our hooker; yes that is a real position, decided to engage too early in the scrum. Why this is a problem deserves a bit of an explanation. As a second row player, my head is wedged between the prop's ass and the hooker's ass. Normally all of the force that I experience is dispersed through my shoulders and back, but when the hooker leaves too early it gets absorbed by my neck. I decided to leave the ground after my neck made a sound like someone was stepping on a bag of lays.

We went on to lose gloriously, but played hard.

Villa Grimaldi

On Friday the 9th of May our group made a trip to Villa Grimaldi. A former detention and torture center of the Pinochet regime.

Our guide, a former detainee and torture victim painted a very vivid picture of the experience at the Villa.

When someone was detained by the DINA (Pinochet's secret police) they were put in the back of a truck, blind-folded, hog-tied, and beaten. They were driven in through the service entrance of the villa, untied and forced out of the truck.

Upon arrival the DINA would perform what they referred to as the "Bienvenido" or welcoming. This consisted of surrounding the detainee and beating he or she to a state of unconsciousness, they were then doused with freezing cold water and taken to the first torture chamber.

In the first torture chamber the detainees were forced to strip; if this was not done quickly they were beaten again. The detainee was then strapped to the "Parilla" or grill, which was basically metal bed-frame to allow the conduction of electricity through the body. The detainee was then tortured anywhere from one to three hours.

The detainees where kept in cells large enough to hold a bed and nothing more. They were given less than ample food, and were allowed to use the bathroom once a day. Obviously the conditions were horrible. They were generally taken for torture once a day, which could have been at any time.

If the first torture chamber was not substantial, the detainee was taken to another room which had a chair in which the detainee was strapped too and tortured using a technique called the telephone. The torturer would stand behind the detainee and slap his ears with open hands, causing immense damage and pain to the ears. This room also contained a double parilla in which the detainee would be put on the bottom and a friend or loved one would be tortured above him.

Another form of torture used at Villa Grimaldi was water boarding, something our government claims is not torture.

Our guide told us something very personal about his experience in Villa Grimaldi. At one point he was brought into a room of other prisoners and left to wait there. He supported himself on the door because he was having a hard time standing. Another prisoner approached him and offered him a cigarette. Because of this gesture of kindness our guide knew that this other prisoner was a DINA informant, it was the only way to get cigarettes.

The other prisoner asked our guide about himself, so our guide only told him what the DINA knew about him. The informant knew there was more information and he said the following to our guide, "Look, they tortured me the same as you, and I said nothing. They raped my wife in front of me, and I said nothing. Then they tortured my six month old child in front of me, and I broke. What would you have done if it had been you?" Our guide said that after this he could not judge anyone who was an informant because of that very question.

Santiago, te amo

Dear Santiago,

You have stolen my heart with your distinct culture and quaint smog. The way your transportation system literally brings people together is utterly charming.

Your university is something truly amazing. The students are not just university students, they are undeniably Universidad de Chile students. There is nothing quite like throwing a molotov cocktail just for the hell of it. I've heard the rush is better than coke(a cola).

Many cities have pollution issues, undoubtedly so do you, but it seems as though your methods of battling it are a bit unorthodox. Cliche Catholic schoolgirls making out with much older "pololos" in every public park will probably not clean the air, nor will the thousands of stray dogs. Perhaps a protest could stop it?

I love your double standards. We can't have the morning after pill because that would cause the teenagers to have rampant irresponsible sex in the metro stations, but we can have sex on television after 10pm. Oh, and if you want some "sweet and low-cut" with your coffee, there is always cafe con piernas.

I must confess to thee, Santiago, my love. I have been a bit cynical of you in the past few paragraphs, but I honestly do love your idiosyncrasies.

As far as the arts are concerned, you are incredible. Politically and economically, you cut off your nose to spite your face. It takes great effort to create true change with you. It is never easy to be ahead of your time anywhere, but for some reason you drive those who are to death.

I know we can make this work, but maybe you should get some therapy.

Un asado chileno

I had my first ever cook out with my host-family this weekend. It was a bit different to say the least. 

The most entertaining part was starting the fire. First we had to fill the bottom of the grill with dirt, because you can't put hot coals directly on the metal; fair enough. We then made newspaper rings, covered them with coals and lit them. I felt this was a substantial way to get the fire going; wrong. We needed more "combustible" so my host-father proceeded to "clean out" old work papers. We burned more papers than Nixon. After about an hour or so of "cleaning", the fire was ready.

We started with hot dogs and chorizo, and finished with chicken and steak. The chicken and steak had enough salt on them that I thought they had fallen into the dead sea, but the chorizo more than made up for it.

After dinner we went to the house of a close friend of my host brother, who is almost like another brother in the family. Lucas is going down south to work for a year; putting his studies on hold. The entire family sang him a goodbye song. I've never seen two families so close like that.

Profesora, te odio

The following is an excerpt from this morning's spanish class translated to english: 

Teacher: Can someone please describe to us what their home nation looks like using the terms we just discussed?

(A pause for maybe slightly longer than human reaction time)

Teacher:HALOOOOOOOOOO

Nick: Kill me.

And so continues an hour and a half every wednesday. To call it frustrating is an understatement. I believe maddening is more to the point.

Whenever someone is talking she wants us to act interested and say things like, "Oh really?" because that is what latinos do; according to her. I am neither latino, nor do I care about the geographical specifications of Massachusetts.

We then somehow got on the topic of rain in southeast Asia, and someone asked how to say, "Monsoon", the teacher explained how to say it but then said that she was not sure whether or not there are monsoons in southeast Asia. I raised my hand and said that, in fact, there are monsoons in southeast Asia. To this she responded, "Oh really, you know this for a fact?" I reaffirmed the fact that monsoons occur in southeast Asia to which she responded, "So you've experienced this then?"

No, I haven't. But I get the effing discovery channel, and I've seen Forest Gump. Globalization rules.

I did, however, have a revelation about her teaching style. It is actually very effective. If I don't make errors when I speak, I don't have to hear her speak. Win win. My spanish gets better and she stays quiet.

In other news, my Latin American politics class is canceled for tomorrow, this would be the 5th class that will not be occurring. I love this country.

La Universidad de Chile

With the second week of classes, I have finally attended two classes. Within the first week we had a Spanish placement exam, and several canceled classes. I actually was not able to register for classes before they started, it's a pretty great system.

This week I arrived to my 8:30 AM class only to discover that it was canceled. The total amount of time I will spend in class for this week is 8 hours and that includes the 2 hours of class that are part of my abroad program.

Now I'm not one to complain about not having class, so let's look at the bright side of my Latin American politics class being canceled. It seems that I am actually learning something about Latin American politics. The only difference is that I can't bribe the guy at the front desk to call me if there isn't class so I don't have to drag my ass halfway across the city on the Tokyo subway at 7:30 in the morning.

As far as the main campus goes, I do believe it is the stereotype of stereotypes for college campuses. If you wish to participate in some experimental activities you needn't look further than the campus itself as the police are not allowed inside the gates.

I do believe that having a good hairstyle is illegal in Chile, given some of the styles that I have seen. If you fancy the mullet, buy your plane tickets now. My personal favorite look is the girl with half of her head shaved and the other half is past her shoulders. I have yet to figure out what statement she is trying to make, but I think it has something to do with heroin and not enough hugs.

La Burocracia

I recently had the pleasure to experience; first hand, the Chilean bureaucracy. All persons living in Chile under anything other than a tourist visa must register their visa with the international police at one office, then take their registration information to another office to register for an identity card.

Clearly this is the best way to run this system. Of course I want to go wait for an hour at one office to receive a sheet of paper telling me I have to go wait in line at a place that is across town. Things should be so simple.

So last monday I decided to show up at the Civil Registration office at 11 in the morning, thinking this was sufficient. Never in my life have I been so wrong. There is a deli type number system in hell, I mean the office. When I arrived the number on the board was B-62, the number I chose was D-35. When I decided to leave; roughly one hour later, the number was B-72.

The next morning I returned at 7:45 with the appropriate documents. More than ready to wage war on this system. I was already 15 people back when I got in line outside the building. I waited for 45 minutes until the doors were opened to the public. As soon as people entered the gates chaos ensued. I witnessed a grown man cut an old woman in line, and justify it to her with the logic that the line was outside the gate. Once I made it to the number dispenser I pulled a 76. I only had to wait 10 turns!

I then realized why cutting was an absolutely necessary phenomenon of that dreadful office. Each person you cut in front of is literally saving you 5-10 minutes of your life. Perhaps one day, Santiago can have one registration office. That is a world in which I would like to live.

Que te vayas bien, Catcher!

O Catcher! My Catcher! Our great journey is done;

You have drooled over every snack, you never missed a crumb;

The big guy is near, your squeaks I hear, as you prepare your greeting,

To your bed you do not heel, your bone in mouth and gleaming:

Squeak squeak bark! bark! bark!

O its just the cat instead,

Elsewhere my Catcher lies,

Your sleeping cold and dead.

O Catcher! My Catcher! Rise up and sound off!

Rise up- for you the scraps are flung- for you the big guy whistles;

For you Iams and canned pumpkin- for you the cat is punking;

For you they call, Smokey and Morgan, their eager noses rising;

Here Catcher! Dear brother!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that at the vet,

You're sleeping cold and dead.

My Catcher does not answer, his nose is pale and still;

My brother does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The boy is in Chile safe and sound, his voyage just begun;

The world stops not, massive lot, continues with things to be done;

Drive, O cars and fly, O planes!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the world where my Catcher lies,

Sleeping cold and dead.

Finalmente, Chile!

I have finally arrived in Chile, my home for the next few months. I find it to be like the Switzerland of South America. For example, the difference between Chilean drivers and Argentine drivers is much like that of the difference between Swiss drivers and Italian drivers. The Chileans are also much more reserved than the Argentines, it must be the mountains.

I am living with a great family here in Chile; I have a host father and mother, a brother and a sister. My brother is entering his first year in university this semester, and my sister is in high school.

We live in Providencia, a very residential middle class area, and our house is very close to the metro.

I have only ever mentioned Pinochet once, and nothing was really said in response. Since then I have not mentioned him. In reality Pinochet is not hated by all the people of Chile. In 1988 he was only ousted by a 5% majority and he held an influence on the government for years after. To many Pinochet saved the country from communism and the perils of Allende Socialism.

When Allende took over the government in 1970 there was a huge economic recession, not because of Allende's policy but because the U.S. withdrew its support which floated the centrist governments of the past. In addition to the withdrawal of U.S. support right-wing business owners stopped selling basic products such as groceries, which created a sense of crisis in the country.

On September 11th, 1973 Pinochet took over the government in a military coup which was heavily supported and influenced by the Nixon administration; President Nixon frequently referred to Salvador Allende as a, "Son of a Bitch". In a great assertion of power, the Chilean Air Force bombed the Presidential Palace; la Moneda, until its inhabitants surrendered. Rather than be captured by the military, Salvador Allende took his own life.

It amazes me to think that despite countless actions like this, the United States has yet to rethink its position in the World. We have the power to do great things for the Global Community, yet we actively choose to do harm to it.

Hotel Europa, el placer fue tuyo.

I recently had the privilege to stay at the esteemed Hotel Europa or Montevideo, Uruguay. The lobby appears to be 1980's chic whilst the elevators are 1930's chit; the breakfast room is attached to the lobby.

The room was slightly larger than a prison cell, with a bath en suite. The beds reminded me of The Great Escape in the sense that we could have used the wooden slats that supported the gymnasium wall foam-padding mattress to support the walls of our escape tunnel; which would have been necessary if we had to stay there any longer.

I am not sure but, I believe that my pillow was made out of the bottom of a seat from an old airliner. What I am sure of is that in case of an emergency water landing, it would have floated.

The bathroom was complete with a sink, toilet, shower and even bidet. There must have been some sort of sale when they were building the hotel. The bathroom was very well supplied with a bar of soap and one single roll of toilet paper for the duration of my stay.

A few words of caution to any of you planning to stay in Satan's colon for your next trip to Montevideo. It is not allowed to use your laptop during breakfast, and you are not allowed to eat where you are allowed to use your laptop. The only two places in the hotel where the wireless works. Yes, I was amazed that they had it.

The best part of the stay had to be breakfast. When I got off the elevator I was greeted by the sound of a tinny piano, played by the Uruguayan knock-off version of Sam. Please, don't play it again.

La Opresion Nueva

There is currently an international dispute over a paper plant in Uruguay that resides on the banks of the Rio Uruguay; the border between Uruguay and Argentina. The two countries were competing for the plant; owned by Botnia, and now that Uruguay has won it, Argentine citizens are vocalizing their disapproval of the pollution outputs of the plant.

Argentines have shut down the bridge connection Uruguay and Argentina; which is roughly 3km north of the plant, in protest. In a passive-aggressive protest the government of Argentina has done nothing to re-open the bridge; which is a crucial economic connection for the entire Southern Cone. It is a major thoroughfare that connects Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, and Chile.

The bridge is the shortest and most economical land route between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Its shutdown is not only affecting Argentina and Uruguay, but all of the Mercosur and Chile. The dispute over the plant could severely rupture relations within the Mercosur, and further delay an EU like system in South America.

I recently had the opportunity to visit the plant; a rarity. This event in and of itself is not particularly interesting, but the visit sparked a very interesting occurrence. Our group was supposed to cross to the Argentine side of the bridge to speak with the protestors, but because some people in the group were without identification we could not cross. Instead, the protestors were going to cross and talk to us.

When the customs officials got wind of this plan they immediately called the plant to warn them. The plant then called the police, who came to stop the protestors from crossing the border; a completely illegal action. This gross display of corporate power is alarming. It seems that Botnia is more powerful than the government of Uruguay.

¡No llores para mí, Argentina!

I have spent the past few days studying in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It may quite possible rival Perpignan for the title of, Dog Shit Capital of the World. Despite this and the fact that there is garbage everywhere, it is a very cool city. The architecture has a heavy french influence, but the appearance is undeniably spanish.

One feature that constantly reminds you that you are not in Madrid is that Buenos Aires has several shanty towns. They are settlements of extremely poor people who live on government land, and are frequently abused by the angelic national police.

The other day we had an incredible experience. There happens to be a Human Rights museum in a clandestine detention center in the heart of Buenos Aires. The stories that I read about an heard absolutely amaze me.

The Argentinean military junta kidnapped thousands of people, many of whom went on the flight of the dead. What they would do was heavily sedate the victims, then fly them out over the ocean and drop them to their deaths. They would then steal all the possessions of the deceased. They even set up a real estate office to sell their properties. You would have thought the world would have learned its lesson after World War II.

Despite the distinctly sad impression the museum left me with, I did manage to enjoy myself in Buenos Aires. I believe that there must be some sort of world's most beautiful women competition going on every day here.

We saw the burial site of Eva Perón, I speculated as to whether or not her coffin was Gucci or Louis Vuitton. 

Carnaval, parte dos

Friday evening's events left me wanting for more. At roughly 12:30 pm I met up with two friends of mine, Kylie and Lucho (Spanish nickname for Lewis) armed with a back pack full of "bombas" and enough Ecuatoriano knock-off supersoakers to dispel a riot.

Our goal for the day was to thoroughly soak anyone who attempted to do the same to us. Our first attackers were two extremely dangerous seven year old children. After throwing four or five "bombas" at their stronghold I asked myself, "Am I too old for this?" Then two "bombas" landed at my feet and the answer became clear.

Looking up I saw a horde of conniving twelve year olds re-loading with what was sure to be my soaking. Kylie and I tucked close to the building to avoid the next volley. In a moment of sheer heroism Lucho ran into the street, drawing enough fire that I was able to step out of cover and return fire.

After this incident we decided we would need more munitions if we were to make longer journeys. After sufficiently arming ourselves with enough water to create an oasis in the Sahara we made our way to Calle Larga. We encountered a group of "Caballeros" on the corner. Kylie and Lucho stated that we should not proceed any further, or we would surely be doomed. I insisted that we press on.

As we approached these wild-men one of them came running at us with a jar of something red, and went on to rub it all over any area of exposed skin. Lucho and Kylie then had eggs smashed on there heads, I had a beer sprayed all over me. We returned the favor by cooling them off a bit. They then offered us a drink and we ended up hanging out with them for a bit. 

This is the nature of Carnaval. You fight strongly, but in the end you share a Zhumir and Cola, shake hands and part ways.

Carnaval, parte uno

On  friday evening I went for drinks and a light dinner with some friends at a small establishment named Monday Blue. A good time was had by all, but I had to return home to change, and drop off my bag before heading back out for the night.

En route to my house; unbeknownst to me, several younger citizens of Cuenca were taking part in the festivities of Carnaval. This generally involves hurling water balloons at pedestrians. Whilst walking underneath their balcony, totally oblivious. I water balloon was dropped perfectly on to my head, knocking my sunglasses to the ground and rendering them useless.

After I got over the fact that my 100 USD sunglasses were now part of the sidewalk, I started to plot my revenge. When I arrived home I quickly changed clothes and began filling water balloons. Once sufficiently armed, I called my compadre. We met in Parque Calderon; about a block from the previous incident, to plan our attack.

We loaded our pockets with "bombas de agua" and set out to seek vengeance. We casually strolled up to the balcony where the victimizers; soon to be victims, stood guard. I opened fire in a fashion that resembled a mob hit. My first hurl landed just above my enemy's head, my second and third volleys landed directly in the house of my targets. Perfect.

They then returned fire with their buckets of water, but our evasive maneuvers were too effective and we escaped, dry as a Dukes martini.

Cosas

A lot has happened here in the past ten days. We went to both Ingapirca (Incan ruins) and Cajas (An amazing national park), I will try to post pictures soon. Both places were incredible, but Cajas was gorgeous. It is mountainous terrain filled with hundreds of small lakes. One of the girls in the group managed to find the only patch of quicksand in the whole park. We all snapped photos as she sank thigh deep into the mud.

Possibly the most interesting, yet least surprising part of the past few days is the fact that I went on a date with a very nice Cuencan girl named Adriana. We met at a birthday party, I later asked her to go to dinner and salsa dancing. She said yes, after asking her father for permission.

Thats such an interesting aspect of life, here. It never even occurred to me that she would have to ask her father, but of course she would. People live with their parents until they are 40. 

The date was kind of difficult with my fluency in spanish and her nearly flawless english. I thought it went okay at best, and did not really expect to hear from her again. On the contrary, round two is this Wednesday.

Maybe we'll hold hands, since thats like 3rd base here.

Si ella es bonita, da la un momento más.

Here in Cuenca, I am living with a not so typical family of five. My host mother has four children of her own, all in their 30's. Two of her children live in the house with us: Maria, a teacher and Patricio, a lawyer (It appears that I am destined to live with lawyers). Maria and Patrico each have a son, ages 6 and 11 respectively. This helps me greatly with my language skills because as we all know, children speak very clearly and slowly. I only have to ask them to repeat themselves three or four times before I understand half of what they say, but I figure that if I can understand them I can understand anyone.

The most interesting fact about my host family is that they share the same religious views as Mitt Romney. At first, when I was told this, I thought perhaps I had misunderstood them or that maybe it was even a joke they were playing on the gringo.

No.

This revelation gave way to many other thoughts. No coffee in the morning. No beer/wine/alcohol of any sort in the house. Will I be able to stay out late? Will they be mad if I come home not quite three sheets to the wind, but maybe two? How is this going to work?

On Wednesday we decided to go out for some drinks, then some Salsa dancing at la Mesa (The Salsa club). So before I left; out of respect for my family and their faith, I asked my host mother what time she wanted me to return. At first she said, "Whenever you like", but she went on to say, "Si ella es bonita, da la un momento más." In english: If she is pretty, give her some more time.

Relief washed over me, and I left the house for a great night.

El Comienzo Del Viaje

The beginning of my journey consisted of a one day layover in Miami. I noticed that 30 yards from my hotel there was a latin restaurant, so I decided to partake in a preview of the food to come. My meal of a giant Cuban Sandwich and fried platanos was quite satisfying, and held me over until the cheese pizza hot pocket I received on the flight from Miami to Costa Rica, which was, as expected, not quite as satisfying as the Cuban Sandwich and platanos.

The flights from Miami to Quito, Ecuador were very short and comfortable. Upon arriving in Quito we (a group of students) went to the Hotel to settle in and get something to eat. The Hotel was surprisingly nice for being part of a student program, it had a heated pool and a phenomenal view of the Andes. 

The following day we boarded a bus that had been more than gently used and headed off on a city tour of Quito. The interesting thing about Quito is that it is sprawled out over the foothills of the Andes, giving way to streets with treacherously steep inclines and close quarters for busses.

I was shocked to find that the city tour consisted mainly of churches. Who would have thought a former colony of Spain would be Catholic? In all seriousness, one of the Churches was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen, and I have seen many a church. It was done almost completely in gold leafing. I managed to quell my sense of socio-political outrage in order to enjoy the craftsmanship of the church. A revealing aspect of the church was the presence of two corresponding paintings, one of heaven and one of hell. All the people in heaven are white, and all of those in hell are black. I was told that the indigenous people of Ecuador are not allowed inside of the church, but they are able to stand in the doorway and observe the two paintings. This racism still exists today, as the indigenous people are the most poor in the country.

A very special part of the city tour was a walkthrough of the Presidential Palace, much like the White House only less security, and the people who pay for it are allowed inside. I was told however, that this has only been allowed recently, with the election of the new President. Whilst waiting in line to enter the palace I was surrounded by soldiers with sub-machine guns and other small arms, but once inside the gates the security was very lax. I passed through the metal detector with pockets filled with various objects that set it off, yet no one seemed to care. On the contrary to the lax security at the gate, a soldier did follow us thought out the entire tour and our guide kept us in marching formation.

At first glance, Ecuador appears to fulfill all the stereotypes we gringos have of Latin American countries; corruption, poverty and danger. I hope that throughout my journeys I can venture past this stereotype and discover the heart of Ecuador.